dropped his chin, and his gaze lowered. Within the soft orange glow of the setting sun, his dark eyes looked into Blue’s. Eyes like rich chocolate that had once made her melt like a Hershey’s bar. But she was older now. Wiser. Impervious to smooth talk and smoother hands than she’d been that hot summer so long ago. Even if he had recognized her, there would be no melting of any kind.
“That’s where I want to die,” Sudie continued.
“You’re not going to die.” He sighed and looked at his grandmother. “You’re too stubborn to die.” One corner of his mouth kicked up a little, and his dark eyes settled on her. “Hello, Blue.”
Nope. No melting. Not even a little bit.
Chapter Two
1991
Barbecues were as much a part of the Louisiana fabric as Mardi Gras, voodoo, and jazz funerals. Steaming aromatic clouds from crawdad pots floated across backyard fences and mixed with smells of ribs, spicy boudin, and sweet jasmine.
In tightly packed districts around New Orleans, neighbors opened the doors to their brightly painted Creole cottages and shotgun houses and had street barbecues. Each backyard chef attempted to outcook his neighbor while fired up with secret family recipes and fueled on beer.
Warm sunshine and humidity hung over Memorial weekend of 1991, and just after noon, Blue Butler escaped the small family brunch at Dahlia Hall and hopped into her mother’s Chevy Cavalier. She wore a long floral skirt and sleeveless denim shirt, but by the time she reached her friend Carolee’s house in Orleans Parish, she’d tied the denim shirt in a knot just above her navel, and the long skirt lay on the seat beside her. A pair of worn, cutoff jeans shorts hugged her butt. She and Carolee had just seen Thelma and Louise at a theater in the Triangle, and she was feeling like a rebel. She tore the ponytail holder and ribbon from her hair and shook her head.
Carolee’s street was blocked off and crowded with long tables laden with barbecue and crawdads. Pitchers of cold beer flowed from kegs, and jazz poured from houses painted the colors of sno-balls sold on Plum Street. Blue found her friend standing in front of a table weighted with food. She stood shoulder to shoulder with her neighbors, sucking heads and pinching tails. Presenting a whole different picture than the person who’d just graduated with Blue from an all-girls prep school in the Garden District. Since the first day she’d met Carolee in kindergarten, the two had become fast friends and bonded over the injustice of conservative school uniforms.
Blue joined her friend in line, reached for a spicy crustacean, and ate like a native. The two gorged until their mouths were on fire, then dodged into a neighbor’s backyard, where the kegs of Budweiser were kept on ice. They drank beer out of sight of Carolee’s parents and found a piece of shade across from boiling crawdad pots. They talked about graduation, and Carolee’s heading to UCLA in the fall. Blue had wanted to apply to UCLA, but her mother and grandmother had pitched a fit. Toussaint women had always pledged Kappa Alpha Theta at Tulane.
She and Carolee talked about a road trip this summer, like Thelma and Louise, but without the cops and Grand-Canyon-style ending, of course. Carolee talked about hooking up with some stranger on the road, and both she and Blue didn’t think either would mind losing her virginity to someone who looked like Brad Pitt.
Or Robert Downey, Jr. Except for the drug-addict part, she’d loved him in Less Than Zero. Dark hair and eyes and sultry smile. With her hair like Jamie Gertz’s, it was just natural that she’d have a crush on Robert.
Across the yard, she watched Carolee’s neighbor stirring steaming crawdad pots as she listened to her friend go on and on about all the places they would go if they actually could get away. The neighbor shifted to the left and parted the rising steam. Through the gossamer cloud, Blue’s eyes met and were held by a searing
“That’s where I want to die,” Sudie continued.
“You’re not going to die.” He sighed and looked at his grandmother. “You’re too stubborn to die.” One corner of his mouth kicked up a little, and his dark eyes settled on her. “Hello, Blue.”
Nope. No melting. Not even a little bit.
Chapter Two
1991
Barbecues were as much a part of the Louisiana fabric as Mardi Gras, voodoo, and jazz funerals. Steaming aromatic clouds from crawdad pots floated across backyard fences and mixed with smells of ribs, spicy boudin, and sweet jasmine.
In tightly packed districts around New Orleans, neighbors opened the doors to their brightly painted Creole cottages and shotgun houses and had street barbecues. Each backyard chef attempted to outcook his neighbor while fired up with secret family recipes and fueled on beer.
Warm sunshine and humidity hung over Memorial weekend of 1991, and just after noon, Blue Butler escaped the small family brunch at Dahlia Hall and hopped into her mother’s Chevy Cavalier. She wore a long floral skirt and sleeveless denim shirt, but by the time she reached her friend Carolee’s house in Orleans Parish, she’d tied the denim shirt in a knot just above her navel, and the long skirt lay on the seat beside her. A pair of worn, cutoff jeans shorts hugged her butt. She and Carolee had just seen Thelma and Louise at a theater in the Triangle, and she was feeling like a rebel. She tore the ponytail holder and ribbon from her hair and shook her head.
Carolee’s street was blocked off and crowded with long tables laden with barbecue and crawdads. Pitchers of cold beer flowed from kegs, and jazz poured from houses painted the colors of sno-balls sold on Plum Street. Blue found her friend standing in front of a table weighted with food. She stood shoulder to shoulder with her neighbors, sucking heads and pinching tails. Presenting a whole different picture than the person who’d just graduated with Blue from an all-girls prep school in the Garden District. Since the first day she’d met Carolee in kindergarten, the two had become fast friends and bonded over the injustice of conservative school uniforms.
Blue joined her friend in line, reached for a spicy crustacean, and ate like a native. The two gorged until their mouths were on fire, then dodged into a neighbor’s backyard, where the kegs of Budweiser were kept on ice. They drank beer out of sight of Carolee’s parents and found a piece of shade across from boiling crawdad pots. They talked about graduation, and Carolee’s heading to UCLA in the fall. Blue had wanted to apply to UCLA, but her mother and grandmother had pitched a fit. Toussaint women had always pledged Kappa Alpha Theta at Tulane.
She and Carolee talked about a road trip this summer, like Thelma and Louise, but without the cops and Grand-Canyon-style ending, of course. Carolee talked about hooking up with some stranger on the road, and both she and Blue didn’t think either would mind losing her virginity to someone who looked like Brad Pitt.
Or Robert Downey, Jr. Except for the drug-addict part, she’d loved him in Less Than Zero. Dark hair and eyes and sultry smile. With her hair like Jamie Gertz’s, it was just natural that she’d have a crush on Robert.
Across the yard, she watched Carolee’s neighbor stirring steaming crawdad pots as she listened to her friend go on and on about all the places they would go if they actually could get away. The neighbor shifted to the left and parted the rising steam. Through the gossamer cloud, Blue’s eyes met and were held by a searing
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